


Tell Me

by MajinNeda



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Consensual, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fellatio, Fingering, First Time, Frottage, Vaginal Penetration, blowjob, handjob, intercourse, yeah it's the infamous 3 year VegeBul fanfic cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajinNeda/pseuds/MajinNeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tell me to, and I'll stop," she whispers in his ear as her fingers lay on his waistband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounter

"Tell me to, and I'll stop," she whispers in his ear as her fingers lay on his waistband.

For a long minute, nothing happens. 

She waits, not making to pull away, but not pushing further. She searches his face for any indication as to what he is feeling, evidence of his thoughts on her bold actions. But he is not meeting her eyes, instead looking off to the right, his own eyes wide and...angry? Aroused? Confused? She isn't sure which one it is, or if it's something else entirely.

Another minute passes.

They stand in the middle of the empty bedroom that has been designated as his. Moonlight seeps in through the closed window. 

"I won't continue if you don't want me to,"she reassures him, "Tell me to, and I'll stop." 

Again, a minute passes with silence.

And then she feels his sturdy grip on her wrist relax and she understands the meaning behind the action. Her fingers continue their previous endeavor and move again along his waistband before slipping underneath. 

He isn't hard.

She touches him anyway, holding him, stroking him, working him. 

He still isn't looking at her, but his eyes have narrowed. She moves closer to him, as though she were going to whisper in his ear again, but instead she mouths at his neck. She moves her other hand onto the back of his head, brushing her fingers through his coarse hair to help angle herself up.

He's growing hard in her hand and she feels a small thrill of excitement, and a bigger thrill of pride. 

His eyes shut and he lets out a breath. She'd think him to be relaxed if she didn't know better and if his body wasn't proving otherwise. He was stiff as a board, head still turned to the right. His hands were down by his sides, open but tense. Ready for anything. 

She continues her ministrations, gripping him harder now, licking at his neck. If he were any other man, she'd tell him to ease up and enjoy himself, but this was _him_ , and saying such a thing would be a waste of words. 

She feels a small wetness at his tip and thumbs at it, spreading it around the head, making him grunt. Again, she feels pride. She licks at his neck once more before leaning her head back to look upon his face. She is fascinated by what she sees. 

He somehow appears to be more relaxed yet simultaneously tense than she's ever seen him before. The furrow in his brow is still deep but is higher on his forehead and carries none of its usual anger. His mouth is open as he breathes heavily and she notes that he is occasionally flexing his fingers, still at his side. 

She feels more wetness and works it along his length as best as she can, removing the hand in his hair to pull his waistband lower and gripping his hip for stability. 

He groans and she jerks her hand faster. 

He groans again and his head finally turns forward, but his eyes remain shut. She takes this as a good sign and increases her speed.

But she stops everything when she feels his hands on her upper arms. He scowls and gently squeezes her with his rigid hands before quickly letting go again. But they remain where he's put them, holding her with his palms, his fingers staying stretched open. She begins again, slowly at first, until he makes a frustrated sound and she understands that it's safe to continue at the previous speed. 

She looks down to where his hands lay under her shoulders and sees his fingers remain tense and flexing, as though he were fighting the urge to hold onto her. She isn't surprised. Even when on the receiving end of such pleasure, he wouldn't give up his haughtiness. 

Her observations are suddenly interrupted when she feels his forehead against hers, his breath hot and fast against her mouth and she feels her first, real jolt of arousal that night. She's deliberating pressing her mouth to his when he makes a strangled sound and she feels him come on her hand. 

She works him through his orgasm as he shudders before her. He finally exhales slowly and she lets go of him, but his forehead remains pressed against hers and his hands are now lightly holding her upper arms where they were previously held with such tension. 

She waits, holding her messy hand away from their bodies. She looks at his face again and is startled to see his eyes open now, watching her, his face _too close_. She pulls her head away and he quickly releases his hold on her. They look at each other, and she wonders what he's thinking. He doesn't look angry, so she shouldn't feel afraid. But she does suddenly feel uncomfortable. She's never seen such an expression on him before. His gaze is penetrative and she feels uncharacteristically vulnerable. 

Does he regret allowing it? She doesn't know. But, again, he would look angry if he did, wouldn't he? Does she regret doing it? No, she's been interested in doing such things with him for quite some time. Months. Maybe a year now, if she were being honest with herself. 

She took her time before acting upon her desire. He is dangerous. He is _very_ dangerous and she _knows_ it. And he's done horrendous things. And he is an alien. And he has a really bad attitude, though sometimes admirable in a weird, messed up sort of way. And he had a traumatizing childhood and ruthless adulthood. 

And he is probably a virgin. 

_If_ she were being honest with herself, the last point is probably the one that kept her from acting sooner. But here she is, standing before him, proof of the pleasure she has given him drying and growing sticky on her hand, and she's wondering what he is thinking as they look at each other. 

In a rare moment of weakness, she is the first to look away. 

"I...I need to..." she looks down at her hand, "I need to wash this off."

She walks toward the bathroom, avoiding his eyes and feeling them on her back. What happened? Where did her confidence go? She turns on the faucet and holds her hand under the cold stream of water. This is what she wanted. Well...this is the first step toward what she wanted. She soaps up her hands and scrubs them thoroughly, rinsing them under the water again. She should have known it would be awkward after. Why didn't she prepare for this? She turns off the faucet and walks out of the bathroom with cold, dripping hands and mentally steels herself before looking up at him again. 

His eyes haven't left her and his expression remains the same. She holds his gaze for a moment before smiling slightly and leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. 

He stays standing there for another minute -in the middle of the dark, empty bedroom- staring at the door, before pulling his waistband up and heading to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. Okay. Where do I begin? First of all, I apologize for my lack of writing abilities. I am just not a talented writer. I understand that and I'm sorry if stuff sucked up there^^, but I did my best. Though I am quite sleepy at this moment so I'll probably see some mistakes later and hate myself for it. 
> 
> Right, so. I write very few fics and on very rare occasions but this one just smacked me in the face. While I was in class. And then smacked me in the face again in my next class. So I knew I had to write it to get it out of my head. I needed the sexy thoughts to stop distracting me in class. Seriously, I was having straight up porn of my OTP running through my head while I was sitting in my classes today. Too bad it'll probably continue because I have more planned. 
> 
> This will actually be my first multi-chaptered fic. I'm going to estimate it at ending with about 5 chapters, give or take. I don't know. We'll see. I don't even know when I'll update it next. I need the inspiration. This chapter got some of it out of me. 
> 
> I guess it was about damn time I wrote a fic starring my OTP of all OTPs. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, and comments would be welcomed (give me feedback so I can learn how to write)!


	2. Second Encounter

It's two weeks later when he finds her in his bedroom once again.

He's almost startled when he spots her sitting at the foot of his bed in the dark; he has grown accustomed to the solitude within those walls, that strange occurrence two weeks prior serving as an outlier. 

She looks at him and gives a small smile, patting the space on the bed by her side. 

He doesn't do as she implied; instead, he crosses his arms and leans back against the bedroom door and watches her. Her forced smile falls and he wonders what she is thinking as she looks back at him. What are her intentions? Has she come back to ask forgiveness for her previous actions? Has she come back to do it again? What does she gain from it? Does she know that he has no experience in this field and is taking advantage to show that she has power over him in some aspect? 

The thought immediately _infuriates_ him. But he quickly realizes that she has already shown her dominance in other ways. She is clearly wealthy and doesn't hide her genius intellect. She has also provided him shelter, food, clothing, and a means of training. In the beginning, he felt ashamed at the notion of being an act of charity for the human. But the amenities she provides him give her the upper hand. Yes, he could easily survive without her help, but why not live and train more comfortably when the option is available? 

So then _why_ the actions from two weeks prior? She gave him pleasure but did not take any. Has she come back to receive it in turn this time? He feels suddenly anxious at the thought. Try as he might, he cannot decide if he would rather pleasure her in kind or refuse. 

As he dwells upon his questions, she stands up and slowly walks toward him, only stopping once mere inches separate their bodies. He wants to uncross his arms, a habit formed for defense, but resists the urge. She tilts her head as she looks into his eyes and he can feel her analyzing him. He holds her gaze and stands his ground, refusing to back down, refusing to show _weakness_. He is aware of the door at his back and realizes that her only means of leaving is if he moves out of the way. But he stays where he is.

After some time, she raises her hand and carefully places it on his bicep. He breaks eye contact for a moment to quickly look before returning his eyes to hers only to find that she has also looked down. His gaze drops to her mouth as he catches sight of her tongue swiftly sliding over her lips before disappearing once again. The corners of her mouth turn up. She caught him looking. 

Still smiling, she tugs his arm with little force and tilts her head toward the bed. He doesn't move and her eyebrows furrow a fraction. 

Many seconds pass.

He considers continuing to refuse but eventually relents once she appears on the verge of giving up, her frustration clear. He follows her to the bed and hesitates, uncrosses his arms, and sits down. 

She stands in front of him, positioned between his open legs; he loathes that he has to look up to watch her now. 

She places her hands on his shoulders but slides them down and across his collarbones before he has the chance to feel like he is being held down. The thought of the weak, human woman before him attempting to hold him down amuses him and he is distracted as she moves her hands down to his bare chest. He snaps back to full attention when he feels her graze his nipple. He's muddled at the realization that the light touch felt _pleasant_. 

He looks to her face again but her eyes are on his torso. She's biting her bottom lip. 

He awaits her next course of action. 

She finally raises her eyes to his once again and seems to hesitate a moment before swiftly resolving herself. She bends forward and kisses his chest without breaking eye contact. 

He holds still. 

She presses her mouth to his chest again, and then again. He sees her tongue before he feels it. The warmth of her mouth monopolizes his sensations. 

She crouches and kisses her way across his chest until she reaches his nipple and grazes her tongue against it. At this he finally breaks eye contact. Still watching him, she proceeds to flick her tongue against it twice more and he fails to stop the reflexive twitch of his eye. If he were still looking at her, he'd see her mouth raise in a small but proud smile. 

It takes everything in him not to jerk his head to look down at her again when he feels her hand high on his inner thigh. But after feeling no movement from her after some time he gives in. 

She appears to have been waiting, a patient expression on her face. Taking her time, she moves her hand inch by inch until she is palming him through the front of his shorts and spends a few minutes touching, rubbing, and gently squeezing him through the fabric.

He gets hard quicker than last time. 

Hand still stroking him through the material, she kneels down until she is nearly eye level with her task. Her hands move up to finger at his waistband and he remembers what comes next.

But she stalls, giving him a questioning look. He understands that she is waiting for his refusal, and he considers giving it. But, for reasons not yet clear to him, he doesn't refuse now, just as he didn't refuse the first time. 

She continues to delay, waiting for his response, but moves to continue after receiving none, searching his face for a change of mind as she carefully frees his erection. She gently wraps her hand around him and strokes once, twice, three times before removing her hand again. 

He tries not to squirm with his need for _more_. 

His frustration subsides as she sits up to mouth at his nipple again and he exhales at the sensation. His body nearly jolts at the feeling of teeth and he looks down to see she is carefully biting it. She lets go to press a soft kiss on the sensitive spot. He watches as she proceeds to leave a trail of kisses down his body, gently scraping her teeth against his rib cage, licking along his abdomen, mouthing under his navel and at his hip. From there, her kisses slowly go inward toward his erection but before she can place a kiss upon it, she halts her movement. 

She kneels back, moves her hand to his erection again, and firmly strokes him once before leaning forward until her face is so close that he can feel her warm breath against the evidence of his arousal. 

With an earnest expression on her face, she looks at him and says, "Tell me if you don't want this." 

Similar words to what she said last time. 

He doesn't have any time to think about her intended meaning behind the sentence because her mouth is suddenly engulfing him. 

Warmth, wetness, pleasure so strong it is nearly painful. He feels _hot_. His thoughts blur and his head becomes dizzy. How? How is she doing this to him? She releases him only to lick up his length and flick her tongue against the tip. At that, his body _lurches_ and he fists at the bed covers under him. 

He can already feel his orgasm approaching. 

She wraps her lips around him again and sucks hard, causing a loud, almost embarrassing sound to come from where they are joined. But he doesn't hear the sound, he's too distracted by the pleasure he is receiving and the sight before him. Her eyes are open, watching him intently. His pleasure is too close to painful to be able to hold her intense gaze now, so he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to gain control over his senses. But then he feels himself sink deeper into her mouth and his eyes snap open and he raises a hand toward the back of her head. 

He stops his hand before it touches her. She looks to the side to see where it is hovering before raising her own to his. She's pulling his hand toward her head, giving him permission, but he pulls away to fist at the covers under him again. Just as he did two weeks prior, he knows now that if he were to hold onto her in this state he would likely _crush _her with the lack of control he has over his strength right now, his body too tense, experiencing sensations so foreign.__

__Her eyes become unexpectedly angry and she closes them, but her brows remain furrowed and she's abruptly moving faster and sucking much harder on him than before. His eyes squeeze shut again and his fists tighten by his sides. She licks at his tip as her lips remain wrapped around his head and he senses his legs shaking and then he's groaning as he's coming in her mouth._ _

__She makes a startled sound, quickly pulls back, and proceeds to cough harshly. She somehow manages to wrap a hand around his erection to stroke him through his climax even as she's still coughing and her eyes are watering. After she strokes him to completion, they sit, only the sound of them both catching their breaths breaking the still silence of the night._ _

__He opens his eyes to observe her again now, but hers are glazed over, pointed at the ground between her knees and the bed._ _

__They stay like that a few more minutes before she stands up, grunting and rubbing at her knees, and walks over to the bathroom._ _

__He hears running water and splashing sounds as she washes her hands. She takes longer in there this time, gargling some water and spitting it out a few times before exiting._ _

__He follows her with his eyes as she walks over to the bedroom door, opens it, and shuts it behind her without once looking at him again._ _

__As she walks down the hallway, she promises herself that the next time she's in his bedroom, it'll be _her turn_._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't plan to give Vegeta sensitive nipples. It just...happened. 
> 
> Aaaaaaghgislfnsdlfknsfnskl this chapter was so hard for me to write! I planned to upload it a week ago but it just took me so long to feel inspired and crank it out. 
> 
> I'm going to change the rating to explicit now, just to be safe. 
> 
> I most likely won't upload the next chapter until some time after Halloween. Buuuuut, if you send me words of encouragement on my tumblr, I miiiight be inspired to start working on it sooner! ;D >>http://majinneda.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: BULMA'S TURN. AWWWW YEEEEAAAAH.
> 
> Comments are welcomed and appreciated! =D


	3. Third Encounter

This time only one week passes before she finds herself in his bedroom again. 

She knows it's because she's eager, doesn't bother trying to lie to herself. Her excitement rises with each visit and she's beginning to grow impatient with her carefully laid out plan. 

She had heard the shower running when she quietly snuck into the room and praises herself for her accurate timing. The sound of the water stops and he exits the bathroom after a minute; he's wearing nothing but a towel carefully wrapped around his hips and she praises herself again. 

His face shows surprise when he sees her and, uncharacteristically, the expression remains. She wonders if her presence is really still so unexpected, or, considering the look on his face, now even _more_ so. 

She's sitting on his bed again, this time in the middle rather than at the foot of it-a conscious decision. She pats the spot by her side. He follows the path of her hand before flicking his eyes away. She thinks she sees his Adam's apple bob with a nervous swallow, but it's dark, so she won't make assumptions. She doesn't want him to be nervous and will stop if he voices his discomfort. 

She waits for him and can practically hear the gears shifting in his head trying to decide his next course of action. Will he turn her away this time? He looks down to his towel before looking away once more. Was last time too much? He shuts his eyes and she thinks he's almost reached his decision. Did she push his boundaries? She thinks about how just because he hadn't _told_ her to stop during either of their two previous encounters does _not_ mean he actually _wanted_ her to continue. 

She feels disgusted with herself. _Repulsed_. What has she done? He didn't want this. He never wanted any of this. She was being selfish. She has done something unforgivable and she can never take it back. 

"I-I'm sorry!" She moves to get up from the bed and his eyes snap open to finally look at her again. 

He appears to be taken aback by her sudden outburst. She stands up and walks toward the bedroom door, her head bowed. Stopping before the exit, she turns her head toward him, not lifting her eyes-too ashamed to meet his. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't...I-I never...." She takes a breath to steady her voice, "I shouldn't have assumed that you wanted this." Grabbing the door handle, she says, "I won't come back here." 

She turns the handle and moves to open the door-anxious to run away-but she's held back, his hand around her wrist. 

She dares to look up and meets his wide eyes. His mouth opens and it looks like he's about to say something, but he shuts it and looks away again, his hand remaining where he placed it, warming her skin. 

She wonders why he stays so silent when they are alone in this room, so unlike the loud and proud behavior he displays outside and in front of others. She wants him to say something, to tell her what he's thinking, to voice what he does and doesn't want. She hopes she was wrong in her recent speculation. 

"Tell me, " she says to him. He looks up, confusion deepening the furrow of his brow. "Tell me if you want me to go."

He says nothing. 

She removes her hand from the door handle and turns her body toward him. He drops his hold on her wrist. 

"If I stay, I'll touch you...if you want me to." His eyebrows rise and he looks away from her again. She hardens her tone of voice and says, "But I want you to touch me too." His eyes snap back to hers and she _definitely_ sees his Adam's apple bob this time. 

She allows a silent moment to pass by to let it sink in before speaking again, "Do you want me to stay?"

She waits, doesn't take her eyes off his face, hopes he'll finally speak up. 

He responds, but not with words. She stares as he carefully nods his head once. 

She's torn between irritation at his continued lack of vocalization and relief that he has finally given an actual response; a positive one at that. 

She carefully takes his hand and watches for a change of mind. After seeing none, she leads him back toward his bed, crawling onto it and pulling him with her. 

He moves stiffly, but not unwillingly, joining her in the middle of the bed where she had waited for him only a few minutes previously. He sits awkwardly, gripping the towel around his hips, and doesn't turn toward her as she does toward him. 

She wishes he'd relax; but she thinks that might be something he isn't capable of doing, if not physically then certainly not mentally. She hopes, one day, he could learn how to. 

Turning more toward him, she places a hand on his bicep-tries not to be too distracted by the strong shape of the muscle-and carefully leans forward to place a soft kiss to his shoulder. 

Gauging his reaction, she places another kiss there, catches him watching her mouth, and works her way up to his neck. She teases him there with her tongue and notes his sharp inhale when she gently uses her teeth. 

When she brushes a finger over his nipple she sees his fist tighten around the towel out of the corner of her eye. 

She stops touching him, knows that it would be a bad idea for him to be physically uncomfortable if she wanted this to go smoothly. It seems to take him a moment to realize she has stopped. His eyes had closed during her ministrations but they slowly open now and turn to her. 

"Touch me." 

She didn't mean for it to sound like an order and steels herself against the approaching negative reaction. His refusal to speak makes her wish she could read his face, but he doesn't appear to be offended. She almost breathes a sigh of relief at that, but instead her breath hitches because his hand is on her. 

He's lightly holding her arm around the elbow. It isn't exactly where she wants him touching; that part of her body would be very low on her list of erogenous zones. But the fact that she didn't have to take his hand and place it on her body-that it was a conscious action he made on his own-excites her beyond explanation. 

She waits patiently for his next move as he stares at his own hand for some time before eventually making eye contact with her again. She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile and nods for him to continue. 

But he _doesn't_ continue. 

He sits looking at her, as though waiting for her next command, and she's both flabbergasted by the notion that he'd be _willing to follow orders_ and frustrated that she might _need to give them_. And yet, she also understands that this might be his first time touching anyone without the intention of hurting them, that he might need to be guided through this. 

She reminds herself that she expected from the beginning that she would have to be patient with him. 

She tries again, "Touch me wherever you'd like." 

His eyebrows knit tightly together as he looks down to survey her body. She fights the slight self-consciousness crawling its way up while his piercing eyes roam over her. She's beginning to feel dispirited as his gaze continues to wander without focusing on any particular part of her anatomy until they stray for a second too long on her chest. 

She holds back a triumphant smile and finally takes his hand into hers, kisses the back of it-quietly revels at the shocked expression this earns her-and places his open palm upon her breast. 

A muscle in his jaw twitches and he's staring so hard now that she wouldn't be surprised if he burned a hole through her chest. 

She keeps her hand on his and presses his fingers so that he is cupping her breast gently over her flimsy night shirt. She let's go and hopes he'll continue on his own. 

After several long seconds, he does. 

His hand moves slowly and methodically-feeling, testing, learning. So gentle and so careful that she's getting annoyed. She'd think he was teasing her intentionally if she wasn't aware of his inexperience. He continues for some time, seemingly in awe at her female anatomy. 

She's frustrated and she wants to kiss him.

Her hand tangles in the hair at the back of his head and pulls his face toward her own.

She's frustrated and she wants to kiss him, but she _won't_. Not _yet_. 

Her lips latch onto his neck again instead, a bit more tongue and a bit more teeth than earlier. She'd rather he do the same to her-would love to feel his mouth on her body, anywhere and everywhere-but she doesn't know how to persuade him to do so. 

She releases his neck and lies down on her back, pulling him down with her so that he rests on a bent elbow and faces her. She takes his hand from her breast and draws it down her body and between her spreading legs. 

He stiffens. 

She presses his hand over her panties and touches herself with his fingers. She does that for a while, allowing the pleasure to slowly build within her before she leads his hand under the thin fabric to make direct contact. 

She could continue like this; she wants to. But she takes a deep breath to steady herself and lets go of his hand. 

"Touch me," she repeats.

He looks lost for a moment, staring at the spot where his hand disappears under her panties. But then he moves his fingers.

Again, it feels like he's intentionally teasing her with his steady and cautious exploration and she fights the urge to tell him to get on with it. 

He takes his time to run his fingers along and within her but pauses when he ventures over her wet entrance. She notices his hesitance and takes to guiding him again, encouraging his curiosity. 

She spreads her legs further and puts her hand over his before slowly pushing one of his fingers inside. 

He gasps and gapes down. 

She feels his finger move within her and she tries not to squirm at the sensation, neither good nor bad. 

He looks perfectly content to continue like this; afraid he'll keep at it until morning, she touches his hand again and he gets the hint, carefully sliding out. She knows it's irrational, but she wants to cover her face in embarrassment when he pulls his hand out from beneath her panties to examine the wetness clinging to his fingers. Instead, she takes it once more and finally puts his fingers where she wants them. 

She presses down and caresses herself with his digits, searching for the right angle and pressure. After a minute or two of adjusting to accommodate foreign fingers to her old habit, she gets it _just_ how she likes it. 

" _There_ ," she breathes, "Just...just like that." 

She's relieved when she feels him finally begin to take over, so she lets go of his hand, lies back more comfortably, closes her eyes, and tries to just relax and _feel_. 

Neither his angle nor his speed falter now-without her guidance-and she can't help but be impressed. His hand is steady, strong, and surprisingly soft-she wonders if it's because of the gloves he dons when dressed for battle. His touch is warm and her arousal is high; the pleasure slowly builds up and she wriggles, wanting more. 

She's about to tell him to go a little faster when she's cut off by an unexpected sensation and her eyes snap open. 

He's mouthing at her neck. 

He's mouthing at her neck _voluntarily_. 

It's wet, and hot, and feels _so good_. 

She moans and he lightly bites her, drawing out another moan. She's overwhelmed by the unanticipated stimulation and the pleasure adds to her increasing arousal. 

"F-faster!"

He does as she demands with no hesitation and the increased speed draws her climax nearer. 

He leans over to lick the other side of her neck and she can feel that he is erect against her hip. 

She reaches her orgasm with one hand tangled in the bed cover, the other in his hair. She writhes, gasping and hips jerking against his hand until she gradually comes down from her high and the stimulation is suddenly too much. She touches his hand lazily and he stops his motions. 

She lies there for a while, enjoying the release. Her bliss is only interrupted by the occasional tiny pulsation of an aftershock. After some time, she gathers enough energy to open her eyes. 

He's staring at her, his face close, a strange look upon it. 

She wants to kiss him.

Instead, she smiles and turns her body toward him, throwing a knee over his thigh and palming him through the loosened towel. 

He lets out a breath and and she catches him eyeing her mouth. 

Taking the hint, she crawls backward down the bed and settles herself between his legs. He leans up on both elbows and watches her as she at last unwraps the towel. She takes him in hand and marvels and how hard he is, simply from getting her off. She wonders if he has a kink for pleasuring his partner-something she'd adamantly support-or if it's from some sort of power play he's somehow found in the situation. 

He's already so stiff she doesn't bother teasing him this time, simply licks up his length and takes him into her mouth. 

A few minutes later he's _pulling on her hair_ and she's about to shout at him, but then he's releasing on his stomach and she gets an inkling that maybe it was to _prevent_ her discomfort. 

He drops off his elbows and sprawls on his back, eyes closed and breathing deeply. 

She gets off the bed and makes the increasingly familiar short trek to the bathroom. After rummaging around she finds a hand-towel, wets it under some warm water, and heads back to the bed. 

His eyes snap open when she begins to wipe at the mess on his abdomen. He sits up sharply, throws his feet over the side of the bed, and yanks the damp towel from her grip only to clean it himself. 

She huffs at the top of his head, moves to stand between his knees, and grabs him by the chin, forcefully tilting it up so that he's looking her in the eye. He seems so shocked by this action that he doesn't fight against it with his superior strength. 

She moves her face close and whispers, "Tonight was nice, thank you." His eyebrows rise high on his forehead and she adds, "Would you like to do something like that again?"

He nods after little hesitation and she smiles before inching her face closer to his-their lips just a breath apart-and turns to place a soft kiss to his cheek. 

As he watches her leave, he wonders why his lips feel so dry and his cheek so hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VEGETA, USE YOUR WOOOOORRRRDS. 
> 
> Damn. This chapter was so hard for me. I know I said the same thing for the last chapter, but this one was harderrrrrr. Now I'm afraid it'll only grow more difficult with each chapter. I thought it would be easy to write smut in each chapter. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. 
> 
> But I'm actually pretty okay with how this one came out. Though I think my grammar is questionable at best.
> 
> I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written; my old one-shots included. I'm...kind of proud of myself. I need a short break before I start the next one, because I feel drained. 
> 
> Oh, and I put a set amount of chapters. It's unlikely to change, but not impossible. 
> 
> Before I go, I need to give a **BIG SHOUT-OUT** to both KuroRyder and [Roz ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Roz/pseuds/Roz) (who has just recently finished [her own ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4997023/chapters/11479714)VegeBul fic that you should totally go read). I practically begged KuroRyder to send me words of encouragement on my tumblr, and she gave me so much more. Thank you for being such a sweetheart and kicking my butt into action so that I could start this chapter. And Roz. Roz offered to beta for me. I never expected the day to come where I would have somebody _volunteer_ to beta for me. And, although I declined, the offer alone means the world to me. Thank you for being an angel. 
> 
> Oops, did that get too sappy? HAHA OH WELL. 
> 
> Follow me on [my tumblr](http://majinneda.tumblr.com/) to cry about VegeBul with me and maybe send me words of encouragement in regards to writing this story!
> 
> And, as always, comments are welcomed and appreciated!


	4. Fourth Encounter

He fights back a shudder as she trails her fingers along his ribs. 

Her touch it gentle, but with purpose, and he mentally berates his body for somehow growing _more_ sensitive to it over time. 

Her tongue traces his collarbone as she slides a hand under the front of his shorts to touch him. 

He slowly lets a breath out through his nose as he feels himself fully harden all too quickly-tries to ignore the uneasiness he has toward this power she holds over him. 

She strokes him leisurely and his lids fall closed. After a few minutes he has nearly forgotten that he is in the presence of another-his full focus on the feeling her warm hand brings him-until she shifts next to him and he is startled by his show of vulnerability. But he is distracted from the anxious thoughts by the look in her eye, and he realizes what she wants.

He questions why he feels so willing, _eager_ even, to give it to her. 

He only hesitates a moment-refuses to immediately comply with her wishes-before placing his hand on her body. The curve of her waist is soft and he marvels at how fragile she is, lacking the hard strength of a fighter's muscles. 

He could kill her. 

He slides his hand down and over her hip-the arch emphasized as she lies on her side-fingers at the lace elastic of her underwear.

He could kill her so _easily_. 

The motions of her hand have stilled and he removes his own only to replace it on her breast, so near her beating heart. 

Does she not fear him?

She _should_. 

Maybe she understands that she doesn't need to right now. Yes, he could kill her, and might have done so without second thought in the fairly recent past. But, where they stand now, he has no reason to end her life. She does not stand in the way of his goal; does not pose any serious threat. 

She takes his hand from her breast and for a moment he worries he was too bold, curses his continued unfamiliarity in such customs. But his concern is vanquished when she slides his hand under her night shirt to touch the warmth of her breast directly. 

His battle-hardened hand moves with care and uncertainty. 

The feel of her breast cupped in his palm intrigues him. So soft, so foreign. He dares to run his thumb over her nipple to see if it brings her the same pleasure her touch brings him, but her mouth only quirks up in a small smile as a result. Pushing away his disappointment, he presses forward to mouth at her neck, remembering her small sounds of approval from before. 

Her hand begins moving again, continues to provide the pleasure he fears he may have grown addicted to. 

He releases his gentle hold of her breast to trail his hand down her body to tease at the edge of her underwear again. He looks to her face, waits for possible rejection, and carefully inches his way beneath her undergarment when she nods to him, the corners of her mouth pulled up again. 

His fingers quickly find the spot he remembers had pleased her before. 

He presses and caresses her, watching her face for signs of discomfort or dissatisfaction; but her eyes fall shut and the rhythm of her hold on him falters, so he assumes that he is doing well enough. 

He keeps at it, watches her lips part open to let out a breath. 

Just as he was last time, he is in awe. 

The human woman lies beside him, defenseless and unafraid. He watches and listens as he brings her pleasure, something he has never done for another. Something he did not know his hands were _capable_ of doing. 

There is no fighting; no hurting or killing. 

There is only the gentle caress of skin, the wet heat of a mouth, the careful touch of fingers.

The trust remains inexplicable. 

She releases her hold of him and draws her hand out from beneath the front of his shorts to instead grasp his wrist. He ceases his actions and awaits her next move, does not worry this time that he has done something wrong. He prides himself in his ability to learn quickly. 

"I want to try something, "she says, and he can't fight back the eager anticipation that rises at the thought of something new. "Tell me if you don't like it."

He almost scoffs at that. 

He has enjoyed everything they have done so far in the dark of this bedroom. 

Maybe he has grown too comfortable with this odd arrangement. 

She moves to rest on her hands and knees. Her face is suddenly near his and there is nowhere to look but in her eyes. He sees them flicker down and then back up and he imitates the action when she licks her lips. He controls his sudden need to imitate _that_ as well. 

But she moves away, crawling backward and tossing one leg over both of his, seating herself at the top of his thighs. 

He swallows and reminds himself that this is not a battle; she has not bested him in combat and does not have the physical strength required to hold him down. 

She scoots forward and rests down on his hips. 

He sucks a breath in through his nose when he feels her heat press down on his erection. 

She shifts her hips forward and asks, "Is this okay?"

He clenches his teeth and nods. 

She shifts again and his hands ball into fists at his sides. 

She grinds against him slowly, adjusting her angle every now and then in seek of her own titillation. The stimulation is dulled by three layers of thin fabric, but his excitement is higher than ever before due the _intimacy_ of the act compared to what they have done on previous occasions. 

She rocks above him, her eyes closed in concentration. After several minutes, she begins to grind on him harder, faster, and he feels his arousal building up. Her eyebrows furrow and she drops her head, her hair obscuring her face. He hears soft pants and wishes he could see the expressions to go along with them.

She mewls and her rhythm abruptly falters, her hips jerking above his. She falls onto his body, holding him as she continues to roll her hips to prolong her orgasm; he feels her gasping breaths against his ear. 

She slows to a stop and stays there for some time, lying atop him. 

He is still hard and wanting. 

He shifts and she languidly raises her head to look down their bodies before looking back up at him, smiling lazily as she says, "Sorry. I just...need a minute." She lets out a weak laugh and slowly drops her head again. 

He thinks she might need more than _one_ minute. 

He doesn't want to wait. 

He grabs her around the ribs and lifts her. Before she could protest in confusion, he flips them so that their previous position is reversed and he hovers over her. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him. 

He holds eye contact as he crawls backward down her body and spreads her legs to position himself between them. He is now eye level with her underwear. 

He pulls the fabric to the side and sees what lays beneath for the first time. 

"What are you...oh? _Oh_!"

She has done this twice for him now; if their arrangement is to be reciprocal, it is only fair if he learns to return the favor. 

His mouth is on her, tasting her, learning how to please her in new ways. 

Her hand tangles in his hair and she angles and presses his head where she wants him. Her hips wiggle and rise to meet him and the motions make it difficult to keep his mouth on her so he holds her down by her thighs. 

She whines and says, "A little...a little harder! I'm _already_...I'm getting close again."

At that, he removes one hand from a thigh to slip under his waistband to stroke himself with fervor. 

"Are you..." She lifts her head to look down at him and he holds her gaze as he continues to jerk himself, openly laving at her with his tongue, " _Oh wow_."

She drops her head back and grabs for his other hand on her thigh; he allows her to draw it up her body and place it on her breast. He grunts and strokes himself faster, licks at her harder, fights so that he doesn't allow the hand on her breast to tighten with the tension he feels. 

He's nearing climax when her hips jerk up and he knows that she has beaten him to it _again_ , leaving him with a triumphant pride. 

He presses on, continues to lick at her as she twitches with aftershocks until she grabs him by the side of the head and tries to push him off.

"E-enough! Too sensitive..." she trails off, and he raises his head away. 

Continuing to stroke himself with vigor-so near orgasm-he catches sight of her face, flushed from pleasure, _watching_ him. 

He looks away as he releases in his hand. 

He waits for his breathing to nearly return to normal before standing up and walking to the bathroom to wash his hands. He wonders if she had experienced this awkward weight he feels now, cleaning up in the bathroom after their previous encounters. 

When he exits, he finds her sitting on the edge of his bed, seemingly waiting for him. He half expected her to have gone by now, to have taken advantage of his absence to leave without an uncomfortable parting. 

She smiles up at him, carefully stands, and walks toward him. 

"I really liked that," she says as she leans forward to place of soft kiss on his cheek. 

As she turns to exit the bedroom, she hopes he doesn't notice how wobbly her legs feel or how excited she is to come back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....I said I needed a break before the next chapter, but I ended up taking longer than I had planned. Sooorrrryyyy! I just...wasn't feeling it. I think it's better to wait and give you the best I've got than to rush it and give you a shitty chapter. HOPEFULLY you don't think THIS is a shitty chapter. Because if you do, then...just know that it could be a lot worse hahaha. Though I do feel like this is my weakest chapter thus far; I couldn't avoid some of the typical VegeBul cliches. Sorry, guys. 
> 
> I want to say thank you to my lovely friends on tumblr who listened to my whining and gave me their opinions on a specific topic I was having trouble with in regards to this story. You guys know who you are! (And now that you've finished reading the chapter, you know what decision I went with. Uhh...but you might not remember what we discussed since it was a while ago...*shrugs*)
> 
> I drew [these VERY NSFW drawings ](http://majinneda.tumblr.com/post/133230733857/what-do-i-do-when-im-taking-a-break-from-writing) a few weeks ago that just so happened to be a teaser for this chapter. So...yeah. You should follow me on [my tumblr ](http://majinneda.tumblr.com/) to flail about VegeBul with me. 
> 
> I'm going to take another (hopefully shorter) break before I work on and post the next chapter.
> 
> I love you guys. Your comments have been SO WONDERFUL so far; I am forever grateful for receiving them. So please don't stop. XD


	5. Fifth Encounter

Only four days later and she's back, her fingers tangled in his hair and his head between her thighs. 

She can't help but be a little surprised by how willing he is, how _attentive_ he is; doesn't know if she should be surprised or not. But she does think that it's a good sign, that maybe he's ready to take this to the next step. 

His hand moves to push her thighs further apart and she sighs as the pleasure increases with the improved angle, his mouth now able to make more direct contact.

She carefully runs her fingers through his thick hair and dares to press lightly on the back of his head, hoping he'll understand. He immediately adds more pressure and she shuts her eyes, concentrates on the feeling his mouth is bringing her. 

She prides herself in her patience these past several weeks, but it's grown thin. And although this strange routine has developed into something mutually beneficial, she wants more. Has she waited long enough? Is he ready? She opens her eyes and turns her head to look at the nightstand by his bed. Will it make much of a difference if she waits a few more days? Weeks? 

She looks down at him only to find him watching her as he continues to work her toward orgasm and she thinks that maybe he _is_ ready. And if he isn't, then she can wait. 

"Hey," she whispers.

He stops and moves his mouth away from her. 

"Give me your hand, " she says as she holds her own out to him. 

She'd worry it sounded too demanding if the confusion on his face wasn't so obvious as he stares at her in silence. But she thinks he's growing more accustomed to doing as she says, and that he understands he'll most likely enjoy the result. She forces herself to keep her impatience from showing on her own face as she waits. 

He releases his grip on her thigh to hesitantly place his hand in hers. 

She licks her lips and draws his hand toward her mouth. Her purpose is partly for lubrication and partly to see his reaction; and the reaction he gives when she wraps her lips around his finger is exactly what she was hoping for. 

His eyes grow big as he watches his finger vanish within her mouth and she feels it involuntarily twitch against her tongue. His jaw falls open as she licks around the digit and she can guess what is running through his mind at that moment. 

She takes longer than necessary-enjoying his response-before removing his finger from her mouth and pushing his hand down and between her legs before it can dry out in the cool air of the room.

"Put your finger inside me." 

His eyebrows rise high on his forehead as his gaze follows the path their hands just took. He touches her with the wet finger, as if testing.

"Palm up."

He tenses and she thinks she sees his jaw clench. Without raising his eyes, he turns his hand over so that this palm points toward the ceiling, and then he slowly presses his finger in. 

She wills her body to relax against the initial discomfort of intrusion, feels the digit gradually slide in. Once he has pressed in as far as his finger can go, he looks up at her again, awaiting her next order, holding still. 

She wriggles a bit-growing accustomed to having a foreign object within her again-before saying, "You can...you can move it." She considers adding 'carefully' but he probably already plans to, considering his past behavior in this room-whether for her sake or his own, this time, she doesn't know. 

His eyes flicker down and up again before she feels him gently move his finger inside of her, watching her as he does so. The slight discomfort eases away quickly and she tilts her head back to relax, allowing him to experiment and explore. He keeps his movements steady and deliberate, bringing her little pleasure and no pain. 

A few minutes pass and she's had enough; she feels ready. But before she can open her mouth to tell him so, she feels his tongue again. 

It doesn't take long before she reaches her climax. He removes his finger as she pushes his head away and she sees him examine the wetness gathered on it-just as he did the time before. 

"Come up here," she beckons, and his body slowly crawls up the bed to lie next to her, half turned toward her own. 

He lies close, but does not touch her. His eyes travel along her body, focusing on where his ministrations had just taken place, moving up to her breasts, and stopping on her lips. She sees that he's hard through his shorts. 

She lays her hand on his chest and appreciates the firm pectoral muscles before sliding her fingers down to touch his sensitive nipple. He stiffens slightly and she moves forward to replace her fingers with her lips. She kisses him there gently, intentionally moving slow. His body jerks a bit when she lightly tugs with her teeth. She further teases him with her tongue as she trails her hand down his chest, travelling along his strong abdomen to stop on the bulge beneath his clothing, gripping him loosely. He lets out a breath, as though he were holding it. 

She wants him.

She wants _more_.

She probably wants him more than she _should_. 

But does he want her as well? Most likely, if his acceptance of her nighttime visits-his willingness to go along with what she says and does on this bed-serves as evidence. But maybe he's satisfied with the way things have been, the way they are now; maybe he doesn't want to take it any further. She isn't even sure if the next step really is so seemingly profound, considering what they've already done together. But she can't help but think that maybe it is. And she can't help but want to take that next step.

And she can't help but hope _he_ wants to as well. 

She considers asking him directly first, but history gives her reason to believe she will only receive silence in return-a nod of the head, if she's lucky; so she decides to show him and wait for protest, as they've done before. 

She continues her gentle touches over his erection as she tilts her head up to softly mouth at his neck, nipping him lightly and feeling him exhale against her shoulder. She releases her hold of him to instead place her hand on his upper arm to pull him closer as her tongue traces up his skin. When she reaches his ear, she stops to whisper-breathier than necessary- "Move on top of me." 

His brows furrow further as he scans their positions, mentally calculating what she wants of him and how to do it, most likely. Understanding his struggle, she turns onto her back and tugs on his arm again, hoping he'll get the idea. He looks her in the eye and sits up. For a moment she's worried he's leaving, has decided he doesn't want any more of this, is ending it here. But he turns and stiffly moves over her, putting one leg over both of hers and placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. 

He hovers over her with a strange expression; a mix of confusion, expectancy, and something she can't quite place, something so very him. The position is typically one of intimacy, but she doesn't know if she should feel turned on, amused by his expression, or frightened, considering who the man is above her. She's caged in and completely at his mercy. 

Except that she isn't.

He may be in a more dominant position, but she's clearly still in control. 

His gaze follows the movement of her hands as she places them on his wrists. When he begins to move them away she's afraid she's done something wrong, only to quickly realize that that is probably exactly what _he_ was feeling. 

"No, stay, " she reassures him with a smile, and he hesitantly puts his hands back where they were resting.

She touches his wrists again; when he doesn't make to move away this time, she slides her fingers up his muscular arms and around his shoulders. Her hands then proceed to glide down his sides and over his lower back before carefully stopping on his rear. Taking only a moment to indulge and appreciate his firm backside, she then pulls down on him there and he understands, straightening out his legs and allowing their lower halves to make contact. When she feels his hardness against her, she shifts her hips up while pulling down on him again to grind against it. 

She does it again and he joins her this time, awkward in his movements. A few more times and he's learning how to move against her properly, so she moves her hands to his hips, letting him grind against her freely. The roll of his hips remain at a slow and steady pace-still uncertain-but he doesn't stop. 

She watches him; he's looking back and forth between her face and where they rub against one another. She gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile and continues to move with him. The friction feels good, but she's distracted by the sight above her. Seeing him move over her like this-so focused and so earnest-further adds to her impatience. 

His expression grows frustrated and he's pushing down a little harder than before; it isn't enough for him. He stills when she slips her fingers under his waistband, then pulls down his shorts and the underpants below to free his erection. He sighs and his lids fall closed when she finally touches him directly. 

She eyes the nightstand off to the side of the bed and makes her decision.

"Do you want more? Something new?"

He immediately nods in response, eyes remaining shut. She thinks he's probably as ready as he'll ever be, considering how openly eager he is displaying himself. Leaning over as best she can while still caged under him, she reaches for the drawer of the nightstand. He sits up, giving her more space to move; she pulls the drawer open and immediately finds the item she had placed there a few weeks before when she had waited for him to finish his shower. She turns back to him, and finds him looking puzzled, staring at the object in her hand.

Does he not know what it is? Do such contraceptives not exist where he comes from? Did he ever have reason to be introduced to one? 

"It's a condom," she says. When his expression shows no change, she tries again, "Contraception?" Nothing. "It's...it's so I don't contract any possible infection or disease. Or get pregnant" 

He looks up at that, almost looks shocked. How else could she explain if she refused to be blunt?

She gives up and opens the foil, removes the condom, and reaches down to put it on him.

"Just...trust me."

She sucks in a breath when he suddenly grabs at her wrist before she can touch him. He's no longer looking her in the eyes and his face is blank. She should have known better than to say something like _that_. What now? Can she still do this? Is there a way to convince him to go along with her? She won't push him into complying, never. But she wants this. She wants _him_ to want this. Worried her chances have been ruined, she grows anxious. Can he see that? 

"Don't worry," she tries to play it off with a casual smirk, "It's not going to hurt you."

He _snorts_ at that and lets go of her wrist; she mentally pats herself on the back while simultaneously holding in her sigh of relief. She touches him cautiously-waits for him to stop her again- and he watches as she rolls the condom onto his erection. 

She strokes him a couple of times before pulling him forward by the hips to come closer. She then reaches down between them to lightly grip his penis and rub the head against her wetness, teasing at the entrance. 

"Are you okay with this? Do you want to go on?"

He looks up to meet her eyes and there's a pause as they search each other. He nods. 

She returns the nod and says, "Tell me if you change your mind."

His eyes widen as she pulls his hips forward again and he begins to push into her. After a moment he moves on his own, slowly easing in, intently watching where he sinks inside. She relaxes her body for the stretching, thankful for both his careful pace and his finger from before. 

He drops to his elbows as he presses in deeper. She reaches up to put her arms around his neck and massage his tense muscles as best she can from her position. When he's as deep as he can go, he stills. He drops his head next to hers and she hears his strained breath. She waits for him to move for a full minute before she takes matters into her own hands and rolls her hips. Excitement sparks within her when she hears him gasp at the action. 

But it would be much easier for her if _she_ were on top. 

She rolls her hips once more to see if he'd take over; when she's met with only some heavy breathing she decides to do it her way. 

"Flip over?" she whispers into his ear, his head still buried next to her own. He lifts it slightly and turns to meet her eyes.

His face is flushed. 

It's the most attractive she's ever found him. 

Their faces are close; his mouth so near hers she can feel his warm breath puff against her lips. She wonders if he can feel her own. 

Resisting the urge close the distance, she then pushes gently on one shoulder and he moves away, doing as she asked and lying on his back beside her. He watches her intently as she climbs on top of him and openly stares, eyes wide, when she sinks down onto him. 

She sits for a moment, feeling him deep inside. His fingers tangle in the sheets on either side of her thighs when she rolls her hips, lifts them up, and falls back onto him. 

She does it again. 

And again.

His eyes squeeze shut and his knuckles turn white as they tighten further on the sheets. She puts her hands on his, the rhythm of her hips faltering, but he doesn't seem to notice. When she tugs, he finally opens his eyes to look at her, disorientation evident. She tugs again and he releases his hold on the sheets, allowing her to lift hands and place them on her hips. 

She makes to continue her motions from before but stops when he yanks his hands away from her body to grip the metal poles of the headboard above him. She stops to give him a questioning look but his eyes are closed and has what looks to be a scowl on his face. She huffs with frustration and grabs for his hands again. 

As she leans forward to reach for his hands, he slides half-way out of her. Suddenly, a strange inanimate whining sound fills the room just as his hips shoot up to sink within her again.

And then everything goes still. 

She stares at the bent metal in his grip. 

Oh. 

And then down at him. 

He's looking back at her with a strange expression. 

_Oh_.

Now she understands why he refused to touch her. 

She doesn't know if she should be terrified by how easily he could hurt her or glad that he takes care not to. 

Nothing happens for some time. She tries to ignore the headboard, the curving metal design now bent out of shape. They stay there, staring at each other, painfully aware of what just happened. Hoping for the awkwardness to end, she resumes her movements from before, hips rolling, lifting, dropping. 

She's just beginning to feel her pleasure build up when she hears the whine of metal again, and his hips are bucking up into her as he comes. When he finishes she feels his body relax under her, his grip loosening around the metal poles, and a long breath of air slowly escapes his lips. 

She waits for a minute-watching his resting face-before lifting herself off of him, shivering when she feels him slide out of her. He stirs and looks down as she removes the condom, ties it off, and stiffly walks to the bathroom to discard it in the wastebasket. She grabs a small towel and wets it with warm water, wringing it out before exiting the bathroom and tossing it to him. 

He catches it easily and leisurely begins to clean up, observing her as she gathers her clothing. When she pulls on the last piece she looks back at him-eyeing where he wipes himself-and smirks. 

"Same time next week?" she asks.

It's the first time she's set a specific day and time for... _this_. 

He nods and watches her leave, unable to identify the uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you continue reading what I have to say, listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQlIhraqL7o). And imagine Vegeta singing it. 
> 
> Now, then. 
> 
> Hi.
> 
> It's been nearly 2 months since I've updated. I'm sorry. I've mentioned before that I have little confidence in my writing, and that's mostly because I don't _enjoy_ writing, therefore I don't do it often. So writing multiple chapters for me is draining. But I refuse to not finish this fic and I appreciate your patience! Every single one of your comments fills me with incredible joy! It's like fireworks inside my heart every time I read a new one. But not literally, because that would be horrible. 
> 
> So I don't know when I'll update again, but your patience is greatly appreciated. ONLY ONE MORE CHAPTER, GUYS. 
> 
> In the mean time, feel free to cry about VegeBul with me on [my tumblr](http://majinneda.tumblr.com/).


	6. Sixth Encounter

She is late.

He waits, sitting at the edge of the bed, back straight and arms crossed against his chest. 

_Same time next week?_

Those were her words exactly one week prior-the same words that he has replayed in his head every day since. And yet here he sits, heavy with impatience, glaring at the door every few minutes. His body is restless and he feels foolish anticipating her arrival. It is already fifteen minutes passed the time she had arrived last week. Why hasn't she come yet?

She lied.

A mix of emotions blossom and boil within him at the thought: anger, disappointment, shame, betrayal. Betrayal? He has no reason to feel betrayed; she did nothing so horrendous as to warrant a sense of betrayal. He pushes that feeling aside, shuts it out. The other emotions? Those are justified. 

_Same time next week?_

She won't come again. She got what she wanted. He forces himself not to think about _what_ it is she wanted exactly or _why_ , stills his foot when he notices it tapping with agitation. 

Another five minutes pass and he hates himself for waiting. 

Why? Why hasn't she come? Why would she lie to him? For a brief moment he feels a sudden surge of panic. Has something happened to her? She is not the type to lie, is she? He doesn't know the answer to that; he doesn't know her very well. He doesn't think he knows _anyone_ very well. He stops his thoughts there. No. She lied and she won't be coming back. She played him for a fool, used him as a means for ridicule.

This is over. 

He stands abruptly. He is angry at her, angry at the situation she has pulled him in, angry at himself-for willingly playing along from the beginning; for growing more comfortable with her every visit. He roughly pulls off his shorts and yanks up the bed covers, climbs underneath, and glares at the door once more before turning his back to it. 

But his mind won't allow him rest. 

He lies thinking-wondering what her plan was from the beginning, searching for an explanation for her actions. Was it all to humiliate him? Was it her attempt at weakening him? Had she been conniving the whole time behind a mask of acceptance and comfort? He both painfully believes and helplessly rejects the thought. 

The battle within his head halts when he hears the door to his bedroom open and then click shut a short moment later. 

He lies still, feeling the bed sink as she joins him under the covers. 

He doesn't turn when he feels her hand on his shoulder, refuses to give in so soon after experiencing the mayhem she had put his mind through. But he is quick to submit a few minutes later after her mouth has found the side of his neck and her hand has reached over to trail fingertips just above the waistband of his underpants. He tries to forget the turbulent contemplation that had troubled him only moments ago. He knows he'd be lying to himself if he said he did not want this again, attempts to ignore the rising sense of relief her arrival brings him. Once again he feels betrayed. But this time, he understands that it is his own body that commits the treachery-his own mind. 

He finally responds when she slips her fingers under the elastic; he turns over to face her, the motion forcing her to remove her hand before she can touch him. When he sees her face he quickly looks away, her relaxed smile bothering him. He resorts to mouthing at her neck so as to keep the image out of his sight. 

He knows why she is here. He knows what she wants. 

And he will give it to her. Because as much as he hates the truth of the fact, he wants it too. 

Leaning back again, he places his hand on her breast, enjoying the soft fit of it under his palm, before trailing it down her body- finally confident in these actions-and touches her over the thin fabric of her undergarment. Her legs open up to him as she takes the pleasure readily. He uses his other arm to lift her nightshirt up to her chest to reveal her breasts, but his movements are hindered by his awkward position on his side. She takes over and grabs the bottom of the light material, arches her back, and pulls it off herself. 

He pauses the caresses of his other hand to sit up and tug off her underwear-again, she helps by lifting her hips off the bed-only briefly distracted by the glide down her smooth legs. The action causes the covers to fall off of their bodies and fold messily at the foot of the bed. He carefully drops back down to begin licking at a breast while his fingers find her warm and wet between her legs. 

He wraps his lips around her nipple to gently suck as he adds more pressure with his fingers below. She hums and turns on her side so they face each other, making him pull his head away. She lifts her leg and bends it to rest over his thigh, allowing his hand better access to continue his provision. 

He has nowhere to look but to her face; her eyes are closed as she wears a relaxed smile, completely at ease with him in this bed. He still doesn't know if he feels more angry or more comforted by the notion that she does not seem to view him as a threat, no matter how many times they have done this. 

He watches as she lifts a hand to his chest and draws it up to curl around the back of his neck, playing with the short hairs there. The sensation is pleasant and he feels his own lids falling closed. 

They lie there for a while-his hand slowly building her up as hers breaks him down. 

But her fingers eventually tighten their grip in his hair-a sensation he didn't expect to enjoy as much as he does-and her breathing begins to match the stuttering of her hips as she approaches her orgasm. He keeps with his pace and her hips buck out of her control as she climaxes and he doubles his effort to keep his hand against her, working her through it, prolonging her pleasure. He softens his touch when she releases the grip behind his neck to instead grasp at his wrist. 

He allows himself to appreciate the sheen of sweat glistening on her flushed skin as she slowly regains her steady breath. 

He wonders if she will be satisfied with just this, or if she will want to continue-if she will want to take it as far as they did the previous week. 

He realizes that _he_ wants to. 

She is still holding his wrist when he lifts his hand up to his mouth. She lazily opens her eyes at the movement and watches as he closes his lips around his finger, wetting it with his tongue. She lets go when he moves his hand back down between her legs. 

It feels just as it did before: warm, wet, tight. He remembers how it felt to be inside her, like nothing else existed in that moment but their connection. He wants it again, wants it _now_. But he restrains himself, reminds himself to be patient. His mind may have betrayed him but he prides himself on his control over his body. 

And so he waits, gently moving his finger as she shifts her hips around it. 

How long will this continue? Will she continue to visit him as she likes until...until when? Until she grows bored with this routine? Until death? He thinks about the foretold future, the apparent doom that draws nearer with each day's passing. Does she fear its arrival? 

He watches her, takes in the look of relaxed concentration on her face and the widespread flush across her skin, her body open and pliant to him. 

She has no reason to fear the future, to fear a forthcoming death. He will not allow it to happen. He will stop it. Any coming threat will be no match against him. She should know that. 

His free hand takes hold of one of hers, drawing it toward him and placing it between his own legs. She is taken aback by the sudden motion but quickly rights herself, stroking him through his underpants so that he begins to grow hard under her touch. 

She tugs at the fabric and he draws his hand away from her heat to remove the material from his body. She bends her leg over him again when he lies back down before she wraps her hand around him and continues her stroking with more pressure. 

He rests his hand high on the curve of her thigh, idly rubbing his thumb in circles against her skin. 

He doesn't notice that his eyes have fallen shut again until they suddenly widen in shock. 

She _bit_ him.

Before he can react, she does it _again_ , immediately laving her tongue against the flesh of his neck where her teeth had been. 

He stills, unable to find reason behind her action. She had teased him with her teeth before, always gently, softly. But this time she used some force, enough to cause pain if he had been a weaker man. Did she intend to provoke him? He feels her teeth again and twitches in her hand when she bites down. 

He realizes he enjoys the sensation. 

She thumbs at his tip, spreading around the wetness that has begun to gather there. She releases her clamp on his neck only to instantly bite the skin again, sucking at the flesh as it grows tender under her mouth. Her strokes on his erection become stronger, faster, and he stops his hand before it clenches around her soft thigh. He remembers his momentary weakness last week, his slight lapse of control-a rare, disgraceful occurrence. The bed frame's shape was imperfect still; he hadn't been able to bend it back into place just right. 

He clenches his hand in a fist but allows it to remain where it was, her skin warm under his curled fingers. Her hand doesn't slow on him and every bite on his neck cracks the command he holds over his body. His pleasure is rising, he can feel the climax approaching, but it doesn't feel right. He wants something _more_. He wants to be _inside_ of her. 

She makes a small sound when he grabs her wrist with a little too much strength. He loosens his grip and holds himself still, breathes slowly, reins his body back under his control. Carefully, he rolls them and hovers above her as she now lies on her back, looking up at him curiously. He examines her wrist. There is no damage; she had only been startled. 

He lets go and trails his hand along her arm and over her shoulder to her collarbone. Only a whisper of a touch from his fingertips down her breasts and her stomach. When he reaches between her legs again he finds that she is still wet. He touches her there for some time, watches her face as her pleasure builds up again. 

She lets out a quiet mewl and he can't wait any longer. 

He wraps his hand around himself. He will do it right this time. He has learned, he has experienced, he can do this. He will no longer be made a fool of. He rubs the tip against her-ready to push in. 

"Wait!"

He freezes. 

"You're...you're not..." she hesitates.

He's not _what_? Did she change her mind? Did she no longer want this, now that he is taking action? Has he not become exactly what she hoped to mold him into? He had always done exactly as she had guided, everything she had wanted. _But_ -he thinks back-she had always given him a choice. She _never_ made him do anything he did not want to do. 

"You're not wearing-"

" _Tell me_ ," he says. 

She stares up at him, shock clear on her face. She opens her mouth to speak but he interrupts again.

"Tell me..." He closes his eyes, gathers his resolve, and continues, "Tell me to, and I _will_ stop."

He waits. 

When he doesn't hear her say anything for some time, he opens his eyes to look at her. She appears to be searching his face, a wrinkle forming between her brows as she struggles to make a decision. 

The silence stretches out.

Finally, she does something. One hand goes to the back of his neck while the other goes to his hip, pulling him down toward her. 

Her lips brush against his.

She doesn't tell him to stop.

So he _doesn't_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, thus, Trunks was conceived. And, hey, look, Vegeta finally spoke. 
> 
> It...is...FINISHED. I am FREEEEEEEEEE!!!!
> 
> Oh man, what can I _say_? I never expected this fic to become as popular as it did (I thought maaaybe 2 people would happen upon it and then stop reading after the first chapter). Thank you SO MUCH to everybody who has stuck with me since the first chapter, and to the others who might have found this story later. I realize that it must have been frustrating to have to wait so long between updates; I'm forever grateful for your patience. I've seen other fanfic writers get harassed by their readers pushing them to update sooner but _not one_ of you guys did that to me. Instead, so many of you have told me to take my time and that you will remain patient. You guys are _so_ sweet. 
> 
> You have all been _unbelievably_ kind with your comments. Every single comment I received filled my heart with joy, I thought I was going to just float away because it felt like gravity had reversed. Seriously, your comments meant that much to me. Also thank you for being so wonderful and putting up with my whining about my lack of confidence in my writing; I can imagine how annoying that probably got. XD
> 
> This fic ended up being so much more important to me than I ever expected it to. In the beginning it was just to get an idea out of my head, but then it became more serious. It gave me the chance to write out how I headcanon how the relationship could have formed for my OTP, discuss the importance of consent, show that realistic sex can be sexy to read about too, and become friends with some of you. I _actually_ became _real friends_ with some of you because of this little story. I will always be thankful for that. 
> 
> I have no plans to write any more fanfiction, but you never know. Once in a blue moon I get a sudden idea that I have to get out of my head. Just don't expect anything any time soon. But, in the mean time, you can follow me and talk to me on [my tumblr](http://majinneda.tumblr.com/). Please do feel free to talk to me on there! Be it about VegeBul, DBZ in general, other fandoms, or anything else. =)
> 
> I love you all. Thank you for reading my story. Please do leave a comment (if you'd like), even if you've left a comment before, even if you just want to scream about emotions, even if you're just discovering this fic, even if you've discovered this months or years after I've posted it. 
> 
> Thank you. 
> 
> I'm done being sappy now.


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